


No More Wishes

by HawkSong



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood, Character Death In Dream, Childbirth, Emotional Hurt, Escapism, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Melodrama, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkSong/pseuds/HawkSong
Summary: After the Vault, Berylla is really sad.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	No More Wishes

The garden was in bloom.

Everywhere there was a profusion of green and of colors – white, yellow, a splash of red from one of the rose vines, but most of all, blue. Blue, pale and dark, sapphire blue, hyacinth blue, the blue of gentian and dragon's tongue and forget-me-not and iris.

A breeze passed over the garden – a _warm_ breeze – and blossoms rained on the stones of the patio.

“Ishgard is lovely in spring, is she not?”

I turned to face him, quivering already at the sound of his voice. A voice I had not heard in far too long...

Haurchefant smiled at me, and I smiled back. The wind tossed his hair, and I stepped forward and put my arms around him. “I missed you.”

He embraced me, his laughter as warm as the breeze...as warm as the sun on my hair.

“I was only gone for a little, my dear.”

_**a spear of pure force crackled in the air** _

I blinked. _What a terrible mental image_. I leaned back a little and kissed Haurchefant on the lips. “It always feels like forever, no matter how long you're actually gone.”

He kissed me back, a wonderful slow kiss that made me tingle from head to toe. “And I missed you,” he murmured. “Every minute of every day.”

Then he eased back, not letting me go but giving himself space enough to run his hand across my belly. “Everything is all right, yes?”

The little flutter in my womb answered his touch, and he grinned, a wide and foolish grin. I couldn't help but smile again.

“He knows when his daddy is home.”

But my words made the smile run away from his face. He lifted my hand in his and kissed my knuckles, and then let me go.

“Much as I dislike it, I must return to my father's house for now.”

“Haurchefant,” I tried to hold onto his hand, “Why won't you let me tell them the truth?”

He looked away, and did not answer. “Aymeric takes better care of you than I can, my dear.”

“He has been very kind. But Haurchefant...he isn't you. I need _you_.”

“You know what it will mean – for you and for the child – if you tell everyone who his father truly is.”

“Do you think for one minute that I give a damn about the opinions of a bunch of idiot, inbred, impotent noblemen?”

“They may be fools, but they can still affect your life, whatever you think of them. I want you both to be safe.”

“The whole world isn't safe,” I retorted. “I can take care of myself, and I'm not afraid of those old goats.” I tried a different tack. “There wasn't any trouble for Estinien when he...”

“Estinien comes of common blood. He was not a concern for the Parliament, nor for the Houses.”

“Well you shouldn't be a problem for them either, then!”

“You are so very stubborn.”

“And you're scared.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He pulled away, turned, and left.

I sighed, and set my hand over my belly, only just now swelling – barely obvious in the gowns Aymeric had given me. This couldn't go on. I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I couldn't go another week like this, with the strange flashes of disaster haunting my mind and my dreams. Resolving our situation would surely dispel these unsettling visions.

_**the smell of ozone and scorched metal** _

I stood in the private study of Lord Edmont de Fortemps, and held my courage in both hands.

“I have some things to tell you.”

He handed me a tea cup – one of the new ones he had had made, that were large enough for my big hands and yet still beautiful; I was still amused that he had gone to the trouble to make certain that the out-sized cups matched the family china perfectly.

“Go on, my dear.” There was more white in his hair now, five years after the archbishop's fall. But he was vigorous still even despite some few chest pains; stepping down as Count had put years on his life.

“You know that Haurchefant and I are...involved.” I sipped the fragrant tea, and tried to keep my voice steady.

“Yes. You've both been quite discreet, but I know my son.” Edmont's mouth quirked. “He could not have hidden his feelings for you from me if he had tried. And he did not try.”

I blushed a little, but forged on. “I want to make our relationship public,” I told him. “Formal. I want to marry him, Edmont. Because I love him, and because...” The words stuck in my throat and I had to pause for a moment. “I carry _his_ child. Not Ser Aymeric's.”

The old man's eyes lit up. “You...he...” He sat back, and put his hand up to his mouth for a moment, a posture of thinking hard. “And he has been adamant that marriage is not possible?”

“How did you know?”

“In the past, his – status – has prevented any woman from even contemplating the idea. And he has, once or twice, used that status as an excuse to refuse the more ardent of his lovers.” Edmont watched me closely. “Most Ishgardian women would not be pleased with a bastard for their husband.”

“I should think it obvious that I am not concerned with that. At all.” I gave him a pleading look. “There must be something that can be done – some way to convince him.”

“Perhaps. But tell me, my dear. What do you get out of marrying my son?”

“What? It's not about getting anything out of it!” I set my cup down and crossed my arms, hurt. “I'm not interested in money or status or a title, Edmont – I love you dearly, but I really don't care about any of that stuff. I have my _own_ money, my _own_ titles, and they don't make me _happy_.” I stopped and took a long breath, one hand going to my belly as I calmed myself back down before I made myself nauseous.

“ _That_ stuff doesn't make me happy,” I repeated quietly. “ _Haurchefant_ makes me happy.” I raised my eyes to the old man's. “I want to make Haurchefant happy. Please...as his father...advise me.”

“The trouble,” he spoke slowly, “is that even as an illegitimate son, his blood is entwined with that of House Fortemps. Were I to succeed in having Haurchefant recognized as my true blooded son, he would be placed ahead of Artoirel in the line of succession – an outcome none of us wants, not least Haurchefant.”

“Oh come on,” I protested, “surely there's something you can do about that.”

“And why should you think that I can work such a miracle?”

“Because you're _you_. And you know the ins and outs of this nobility nonsense.”

He laughed. “I would so like to see the look on old Lord Dzemael's face, to hear you call all our traditions and pride mere nonsense.”

“But I'm right. There's got to be something, some kind of loophole or...”

He held up one hand. “It may take some time.”

“More than six months?”

He eyed me, and I lifted my chin.

“You _are_ entirely serious.”

“Edmont,” my voice shivered with the intensity of my feelings, “I _need_ him. I want him to be mine, and I want to be his, and I am willing to beg you to help us.”

Water stood in his eyes. “I will not require you to beg. Give me time. I shall find a way.”

_**a horrible shriek of tortured metal** _

The day was here. Music floated out across the Hoplon, and it seemed like every citizen of Ishgard, highborn and low, was crammed into the plaza. All of them there to see this – to see me wedded.

I stood on the edge of the steps to the Vault. The white gown was heavy and felt strange even now, but I would have gladly worn a plain linen dress or an even more ornate gown or stood stark naked in front of all of Ishgard. Anything, to be here now.

Haurchefant stood beside Ser Aymeric, looking gorgeous in his new House Fortemps finery, and looking nervous as hell. Aymeric, on the other hand, looked as pleased as a cat that had just eaten a very fat fish.

A hand on my elbow, and I turned. Alphinaud's eyes sparkled. He looked almost as handsome as Haurchefant, in his blue and silver formal ambassador's robes. “Ready?”

“Very.”

The music ended, and my best friend took my arm on his and led me up the stairs. I leaned on him, awkward now in my eighth month of pregnancy. But the tailors had done their work well, and heavy as it was, the gown didn't trip me and didn't bind my bulging belly. Behind us, the crowd in the Hoplon murmured.

Alphinaud put my hand in Haurchefant's, and stepped back.

Aymeric spoke the necessary words; I let them wash over me, barely listening except for the pauses where I had things to say in this little script. Far more of my attention was on the man before me, the man I loved so much.

His eyes glowed as he smiled at me. His hand in mine was shaking badly.

When, at last, the vows were spoken and all was done, as he leaned in to kiss me, the crowd began to cheer and clap; and I saw my beloved _blush_ for the first time in all the years I had known him.

I molded myself to him, turning the kiss from something formal to something that made the crowd burst into hoots and hollers amid the applause. Haurchefant responded, but his cheeks were even redder when he finally broke the kiss.

_**transfixed on a lance of lightning** _

I screamed, and the midwives scurried around the bed.

Haurchefant sat near my head, passing a cool cloth over my forehead as I panted for breath between contractions. His face was pale and grim. “Damn you,” he growled at the women rushing around at the other end of the bed, “ _do_ something!”

“My lord, we're doing our best.”

Another pulse of pain, another irresistible urge to _push_ – and then, agony that closed my throat, arched my back, and hot wetness flooded across my legs and soaked the bed beneath me.

The contraction ended and I fell back into the mattress, gasping, tears streaming down my face. I felt dizzy and sick and suddenly afraid.

“Haurchefant...?”

“I am here, my love. Sh, sh. You're going to be all right.”

Something was wrong, _something was wrong_ , I felt weaker with every breath – what was happening?

I felt him take my hand in his and I tried to cling to him. He was so warm – I was so very cold...and so tired. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

“No, don't, don't fall asleep, darling,” Haurchefant's voice was urgent – frightened. “Open your eyes – Fury take you, woman, _don't leave me_ – ”

I managed to open my eyes, but all I could see was my own body, the bedclothes...the blood...

“Help...”

 _So much blood_ –

Something heavy was on my chest.

“No, you're going to be fine, beloved, come now, don't – don't give up – _damn it, help her!_ – my love, look at me, look at me...”

I managed to drag my eyes to his. He was crying.

“Stay with me,” he begged, “you'll be fine, just stay awake, stay with me, you're going to be all right...”

“Liar,” I whispered.

One of the midwives appeared in my field of vision. Her hands were very red. “My lord...”

“The baby...?” I murmured.

The look in her eyes answered me, though she remained silent.

 _So much blood_.

“Haurchefant...”

“Beloved, please...”

“I'm so tired.”

“No – ”

_THUMP_.

I groaned and pushed myself up on one arm. The blanket tangled around my legs and the floor was freezing cold. I must have fallen out of the bed.

My head ached. I felt sick. My eyes burned.

A dream.

All of it a dream.

I crawled out of the tangled blanket and knelt over the chamber pot and lost what little was in my belly.

All those wishes I had never voiced, all the things I could have said – maybe should have said. All of it a dream, a lie, a desperate attempt to escape reality. A cruelty. Even in dreams, was I not permitted some measure of happiness?

But the truth was crueler still.

_Blood spattering the stones_.

_Silver hair across my boots._

The pain throbbed through me, fire instead of lightning, but no less piercing. I lay on the cold stones, pressing my forehead against the floor.

 _No more. No more dreaming. No more wishes, not like those. Never again_.

My body might need pleasure, and maybe I would chase the sweat and the moments of forgetting. But I would not chase more than that.

I crawled back into the bed and dragged the blanket over myself, haphazard and careless as I curled up in the middle of the mattress. I closed my eyes, and tried to remember him as he had been, under the moonlight, holding me close on the high walks of the city.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end, well done you!  
> I won't apologize for this nonsense, I will merely say that it was the whiskey and the book club's fault -grin-
> 
> I was going for full on MELODRAMA here so yes, it's over the top  
> and believe it or not this started out as 'what would it take to make Haurchefant blush' and my tipsy brain took it to a dark place instead  
> and this is not in fact really part of the rest of "Aren't You Cold" beyond being associated with Berylla
> 
> Also, if you'd like to come yell at me for this - 
> 
> Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club
> 
> https://discord.gg/8C6ZKTj


End file.
